


testimonium

by crookedmouth



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: AU - Amon Wins, Bending (Avatar), Civil War, Equalists (Avatar), Gen, Non Benders (Avatar), POV Outsider, Plight of the People, Politics, Propaganda, Republic City, Revolution, Social Commentary, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26968132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedmouth/pseuds/crookedmouth
Summary: Benders and non-benders bear witness as Republic City careens towards Equalization.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	testimonium

Chonglin is not old enough to remember the Hundred Year War, but he remembers his father’s stories.

In them, the approach of the Fire Nation was always heralded in some way – ash falling from the sky, the sound of clinking armor and the heavy march of boots. In his father’s stories, the enemy was always an oppressor, always obvious, ever _other_.

As a boy, Chonglin found the tales frightening. His dreams would be terrorized by skull-faced helmets and fists of flame, and he would wake crying out – for his father, the Avatar, anyone. Now a man with children of his own, Chonglin scoffs at the thought. It seems such an impossible thing within Republic City.

_That could never happen here,_ he thinks to himself, taking in the bustling streets and beautiful blend of modernity and tradition. This is a place where nations become one, where differences of culture are celebrated through their irrelevance. There is balance, peace. The world has moved on.

Besides, an invasion would be impossible to ignore.

How could anyone miss the sound of marching boots, the telltale sign of smoke?

\--- 

On her way to work every morning, Kauri used to pass through Republic City Park and shake her head at the rising octave of the side-burned demonstrator who has taken up residence. On the rare occasion that she had to pass directly in front of his table, she politely avoided eye contact and waved off whatever pamphlet he tried to thrust at her.

He had accused her of being part of the bending elite, once. The imputation had, strangely, turned the warmth of morning tea in her belly to ice.

“No I’m not!” she had retorted, “I’m a non-bender, just like you.”

His expression of affront is almost too easy to recall, all flared nostrils and jutting lower lip.

“Then why don’t you support Amon and his cause? Why are you so hesitant to embrace us as your true brothers and sisters in equality?”

These days, Kauri has a dozen responses, but at the time she had been unable to articulate anything she deemed reasonable.

She wakes a half hour early now, takes the long way around the park rather than through it. She doesn’t want to be roped into a conversation with that unpleasant man again. Doesn’t want to feel like she is somehow infringing on his freedom of speech, no matter how much she might disagree with him, his cause, his choice of facial hair. After all, he has a right to his opinions, just as she has to hers.

A small part of her wonders if she just doesn’t want to see how big of a crowd he has managed to gather.

\---

The Triple Threat Triad have been extorting the Southern Water Tribe antique shop years. Everyone on the block knows it, though no one knows when or why the arrangement began. That sort of thing isn’t what business-owners tend to discuss with one another over their lunch breaks, sharing tea and komodo-chicken kebabs on the street.

Maybe if they knew the origin, they would be willing to contribute to an ending. Instead they avert their eyes guiltily when the ornate satomobile growls up the street, adjust their radios so as not to hear the sound of breaking glass.

The old proprietor is tough, they reason, even for a non-bender. He can handle it.

Interfering would do nothing but wound his pride.

\---

Huang had once described being an only child as the opposite of being a twin. He was never sundered from himself, always whole. Though he would never go so far as to say that having siblings was a weakness, _not_ having them negated an inherent vulnerability.

You cannot feel a sense of loss for something that never was.

He often wonders if the same can be said for being a nonbender – if the absence of an element somehow makes him more _complete._

The boogeyman of every bender is having their power taken away.

Huang knows no such fear.

\---

“You have to admit, he has a point.”

“Seriously? The man throws around words like ‘tyranny’ and ‘bending establishment’ on a table in the middle of a park and you think _he has a point_?”

“Well, hear me out…”

\---

Hungry people are easily kicked down and controlled. Poor people are willing to compromise on points of dignity and discretion much quicker than those who live in comfort. But the disenfranchised are also already frustrated. 

They can only hunger after food for so long.

Eventually, they crave change.

\---

Tu Wei’s friends tease her about the poster. They make cackling accusations that cause her face to burn and her voice to squeal in mortified protest.

But when she lays down at night looking up at the mask’s equable expression, the warmth from her cheeks travels down her body and comes to rest between her thighs.

He just seems _strong_. Powerful. Dangerous, even.

She’s not really sure why that excites her.

\---

It is hard to pinpoint the beginning of a movement. Is it when a silent but pervasive – perhaps even perverse – thought is finally given voice? Is it when the first rally is held? When the first brick is thrown?

Does a movement begin when it only has a leader, or when it gains traction, believers?

Maybe the beginning is the process of decades, a father’s legacy, bloodied trails in the snow.

\---

Hirochi is laid off after twelve years of unwavering service. He has been a valuable employee – never once calling in sick – and accepted a series of pay-cuts as the company struggled along.

Mr. Minori regrets it deeply, but it cannot be helped. It’s just business.

Neither of them say it, but they both know. 

A firebender will get the job done faster. 

\---

Recruitment begins as a trickle. A few men and women, inspired by the tale of a spirit-blessed man from whom everything else has been taken. Like him, these are people who have suffered, who have the most reason to hate. While it may seem like they are who Amon has been waiting for, he knows better.

_They_ have been waiting for _him._ For retribution. A solution.

It – _he_ – has arrived.

\---

Old man Urrniq leaves the gathering feeling thirty years younger.

His shop is still in ruins from the Triple Threat’s last visit and he has no money left for his daughter’s inheritance, but he feels as though he has been given something infinitely more valuable that night.

He has seen true fear in the eyes of his tormentors. Has watched them be brought to their knees.

\---

Word spreads quickly through Republic City. Those who attended the Revelation can speak of nothing else to their friends, and eventually the Equalists become the topic of casual – and concerned – conversation.

There are furtive whispers, snide comments, outraged shouts.

Every tongue that traces his name seems to lend Amon power.

\---

“I wonder what this means for the Avatar…”

\---

Constable Zheng feels a strange mixture of relief and revulsion about the whole affair.

On one hand, of course, abduction and holding a person against their will and subjecting them to the role of centerpiece in a public spectacle is illegal. It’s more than that, it’s cruel.

Taking away their bending is, strictly speaking, _not_ illegal – how can you criminalize that which was hitherto thought impossible? – but it certainly strikes the young constable as inhumane.

On the other hand, Shady Shin and Lightning Bolt Zolt and all the others have wreaked havoc on the city for years, and have been just as guilty of kidnapping and cruelty. In some ways, Constable Zheng believes that what happened to them is a better form of justice than anything the courts have been able to deliver.

He’d rather be strangled with his own cable than admit this to the Chief.

\--- 

The trickle of early recruitment grows into a cascade.

All it takes is for one agent of equality to invite some friends, and for one of those friends to invite a few more. Not everyone has to agree – just _enough._

Like the first recruits, these ones all have their reasons, though they are a messier mix of vengeance and desires long-denied.

Scorned lovers. Struggling businessmen. Snubbed siblings.

No suffering is too small, too petty, to demand solatium.

\--- 

Chonglin’s father had neglected to tell him other stories from the war.

The ones where good Earth Kingdom people turned against their neighbours to curry favor with their oppressors, pointing fingers at fellow benders in order to deflect suspicion from themselves. The stories of desperation and survival that rendered even the staunchest men and women into sniveling whores and traitors.

How quickly the unmovable stone of one’s integrity can be ground into dust. 

Chonglin’s father never told him how Fire Lords Sozin and Azulon and Ozai eradicated centuries worth of history and reworked it, slowly, quietly, gently. All forked-tongue whispers and obstructed vision, carefully crafted narratives, omission and misdirection. Never told him how easy it is to bend oneself into breaking when the act cannot be questioned, when the body is not told it is wrong. Such great works can be accomplished if the people are sufficiently ignorant.

Of course, having not grown up in the Fire Nation himself, Chonglin’s father could not have known this. Could not have told his son – even if he wanted to – that many of the people to the west were still sucking the poison of propaganda from their wounds.

\---

The shift is subtle, at first.

Children come home from school complaining of being bullied, and parents assume it is a phase, unwilling to peel back the layers of playground politics in search of true malice.

Regular customers are turned away from shops and stalls, told that they have simply arrived when the vendor is out of stock. Even though they always, _always_ , have sea prunes.

_It will change in a week_ , the parents tell their children.

_I’ll try again tomorrow_ , think the customers.

It is inconvenience only. Nothing permanent.

Could never be personal.

\---

When he first started dating Goro, Peng Li had been nervous. Not because they were two men, nor because their families were from different nations, but because it was the first time he felt like this might finally be _it_.

For five months, it was. And then Goro burned him. _By accident._

The next time was an accident, too.

The fourth time, Goro did not even apologize.

Peng Li wears tunics with long sleeves and a fabricated smile, longing for the man who bought him fire lilies and rock candy. It is so very hard to turn away from someone you love.

Even harder still when they will not let you.

\---

During their first raid on the Equalists, one of the councilman’s taskforce freezes a woman against the wall. When she thaws out, the deputy realizes that he knows her. They always take the same train home.

He has watched this woman move from her seat for the elderly, the pregnant. Has seen her share steamed buns with the street children loitering on the platform. He caught her making a face behind the back of a transit officer who told her not to encourage such behaviour, once. She had winked mischievously at him when their eyes met.

Nothing at all like the sort of person Councilman Tarrlok described as an Equalist.

How can they be the same person, the deputy wonders, his palatably rebellious woman from the train and the angry, _fukumen_ -wearing one before him now? How can Amon have twisted such a likeable – he no longer trusts using the word _good_ – person into this? 

That night, the deputy makes the journey home on foot. 

\---

“I’m sorry, but Papa says I can’t play with you no more.” 

“Oh.”

\--- 

Weisheng has dreamed of joining Republic City’s police force since boyhood. He has poured over lawbooks, listened to every pulp detective radio show ever produced, even learned what the various codes are for crimes in progress.

His mother – single and sometimes struggling – supports him in this dream, secretly thanking the spirits that her son has idolized strong women like Chief Beifong and her mother. It bodes well. With that kind of influence, how can he turn out like his father? 

When Weisheng is old enough to apply for a position, the first thing he is asked is if he is a metalbender.

He is not.

He cannot bend anything.

The young man is told that he may have better luck in the communications department, or janitorial services. Being an officer without bending is difficult, dangerous, especially now. Besides, few even make it past the rigorous physical examination. A heavy red stamp is applied to his paperwork.

He leaves police headquarters dejected, scowling up at the assertively-poised statue of Toph Beifong. 

_Bitch_ , he thinks. 

\---

Republic City listens, a perfectly captive audience, as they are addressed. Some scoff at the insistence that the revolution will not be stopped, others feel a swelling of reassurance. 

“The time has come for benders to experience fear.”

\---

Ruolan and Ittanuarq have been neighbours for forty years.

As girls they would defy their parents and play in the snow for hours – Ittanuarq crafting clumsy ice castles with her waterbending, Ruolan’s firebending keeping their mittens dry and warm. Little has changed for them, despite having traversed through careers, marriage, motherhood. They meet every four days for shoju, alternating as hostess, and always shout greetings to each other whenever they are both hanging laundry out their windows.

When Ittanuarq’s son enlists with the United Forces, both women are there to bid him a proud but tearful farewell. When Ruolan’s husband abruptly asks her for a divorce, it is her neighbour who holds her through the night, smoothing down her hair and promising that it will be alright. 

It is no surprise then, when Amon’s deep and demanding baritone glides through the radio, that the women seek each other out.

They are out of their respective doors in seconds, Ruolan in slippers and a robe, Ittanuarq wrapped in furs. They embrace in the street, shaking.

Ittanuarq reaches up, bending the tears from her friend’s face with a simple flick.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

“I know,” Ruolan replies, lifting a palmful of flame against the dark.

\--- 

Subtlety gives way to sweeping generalizations.

Soon, the distinction between Equalist and non-bender seems forgotten by everyone but the non-benders themselves. Even the Equalists and the benders agree – you are with us, or you are against us. 

\--- 

“You still think this guy is such a good idea?”

“Honestly, I think the fact he has so many people bothered is a sign that he’s right. He’s speaking to things no one wanted – or was able – to talk about before.”

“He’s literally threatening people!”

“Being controversial doesn’t make him wrong.”

\--- 

Kauri’s path along the outskirts of Republic City Park is no longer circuitous enough to avoid the pamphleteering protestor. The crowd he gathers has grown too big, spilling onto the street with shouts and raised fists. _Equality now! Equality now!_

From atop his table, he catches sight of her.

“Traitor!” he screeches into his loudhailer, jabbing a pale finger in her direction. “This woman should be one of us, yet she chooses the side of the oppressor!”

Faces turn towards her, voices are raised in fury, and Kauri realizes that she cannot duck her head and slip away. As several hands reach for her, tearing her satchel from her shoulders, she knows there will be no quiet rejection this time. 

\---

Recruitment is no longer necessary. Patterns and prejudices have emerged, almost as if overnight, that only serve to prove his point. So many have been subjugated and shamed that the stories blur together.

“My parents were killed – ”

“— I was raped – ”

“— they took everything – ” 

Injustice after injustice. 

The enemy has bred an army of its own destruction, and Amon embraces them all like he imagines a father should.

\--- 

When the firebending food vendor across the street is targeted by Equalists, Urrniq is almost out the door before he stops himself. 

In the darkened doorway, he watches as the vendor is chi-blocked mid-strike. The fire he normally used for keeping his wares warm was almost laughably clumsy in combat, and once subdued his cart was brutally flipped, sending a shower of fire flakes across the street.

Urrniq has never liked those flakes – too spicy – but he frequently ate the vendor’s kebabs.

He wonders why the man never came to his aid when the Triple Threats rolled into view. Wonders if there has always been some lingering cultural resentment between them. 

Urrniq does not need to wonder why he stays in his doorway, doing nothing.

\---

Three days after the equalization of the White Falls Wolfbats, Syotaa’s sister watches from across their bedroom as the older girl carefully removes the pins from her pro-bending poster.

The glossy paper peels from the wall with a sad warbling sound, then folds at her feet.

“Syotaa?”

The older girl pauses, unsure. For the first time, she does not know how to explain something to the nine-year-old. 

“They… just weren’t a very good team. That’s all.”

\---

Funnily enough, Councilman Tarrlok’s curfew makes it easier for the Lieutenant and his company of chi-blockers to disperse across the city, planting explosives and supplies for the next step in their revolution. The police are so distracted with their continued oppression of noncombative non-benders that they completely miss the Equalists.

The Lieutenant is a practical man, hardly a poet. But he thinks there’s something poignant to that, all the same.

\---

Peng Li has lost count of how many times Goro has burned him, but the next time his boyfriend’s fingers make the telltale twitch, he is ready.

His own fingers are weapons now, striking with the certainty of hammers, but lacking cruelty. 

_Thok thok thok!_

Goro stares up at him in pained disbelief, his limbs unresponsive.

“But…” he rasps, “I loved you…”

“No, you didn’t.”

As he leaves their apartment for the last time, Peng Li feels something other than nervousness. He thinks it might be freedom.

\---

When the personal becomes political, inevitably the private becomes public.

\---

An electric crackle and zap fill the air, then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Dear?”

\---

When the bombs go off, Gommu doesn’t think about whether the homeless man beside him is a bender or not – he just grabs him and ducks for cover. That’s what he was taught to do in the United Forces, and his body still obeys the instinct.

Look out for each other. 

It's so simple, really. 

\---

Something goes wrong, the first time Weisheng uses one of the electric gloves against a metalbending officer.

He’s not sure whether there is a defect with the glove – perhaps the voltage is set too strongly – or if the man’s armor has simply amplified an otherwise reasonable amount of charge. All he knows is that he smells burning hair, and the officer does not stand up.

Weisheng realizes, belatedly, that he has killed the man.

The sense of power he feels as a result is so strong, so violently virile, that it gives him an erection. 

\--- 

No one is quite certain when it appeared, but a great string of graffiti now mars the northern wall of Cabbage Corp headquarters. It reads:

_First they came for the Triads and I kept my peace – because I was not a criminal._

_Then they came for the Pro-Benders and I did not protest – because I was not a fan._

_Then they came for the Politicians, the Police, and I allowed it – because I was afraid._

_When they come for me, will you let them?_

_Who will be left when they come for you?_

\---

Yatsen was an earthbender before becoming an air acolyte. His people endure.

Though not mutually exclusive, this is a process difficult to reconcile with pacifism, nonviolence. His ancestors were Zhangs, after all.

He thinks of Master Tenzin, of round-faced Pema, their children. The last airbenders. What will all his years of comfortable servitude – his claims of humility and grace – have accomplished if he lets them be taken by these Equalist brutes? What state will his spirit be in if he does nothing?

Yatsen has been a vegetarian now for longer than he can remember eating meat. The thought of blood turns his stomach in a way he did not expect. Nevertheless, he carefully folds his saffron and crimson robes one morning, neglects to shave his head, and extinguishes the incense at his altar.

When Amon arrives, he will find a man who has broken his oath in order that he may keep it.

Or die trying to. 

\---

“Republic City, I have taken the Avatar’s bending.”

\---

The roundups begin shortly after the council representatives and Korra are equalized. Ruolan and Ittanuarq are dragged from their homes the same evening, in strange symmetry to the night they first heard Amon’s voice on the radio.

The waterbender weeps and begs louder for her friend’s bending than she does for her own.

\---

When Chonglin opens his door one morning and finds three Equalists waiting for him, he is genuinely surprised.

How had he missed the marching of boots? 

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of transparency and giving credit where it is wholly due, I should note that this fic and my other vignette-heavy one, [in absentia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231824) are both heavily inspired by [snowdarkred's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdarkred/profile) fic [a nation, held](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320117) which, if you haven't read, please go do so.  
> Here's hoping that any imitation on my part is interpreted for what it is - the highest form of flattery. 
> 
> Likewise, the graffiti poem is a direct nod to Martin Niemöller's confessional prose piece 'First they came...'


End file.
